


Beautiful Fool

by WildEyed



Category: Great Gatsby - F. Scott Fitzgerald, My Chemical Romance, The Great Gatsby (2013)
Genre: 1920's, AU, Crossover, Frank/Gerard - Freeform, Frerard, Love, M/M, Roaring Twenties, Tradegy, frank iero - Freeform, gerard way - Freeform, great gatsby
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-13
Updated: 2015-03-23
Packaged: 2018-03-17 15:50:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3535160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WildEyed/pseuds/WildEyed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I met him in the Summer of 1922."<br/>Frank goes to a Gatsby party and meets the mysterious Gerard Way. He is immediately enchanted by the man and is thrown into a world of love, obsession, partying, and tragedy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Blinders

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading this! It's my first fanfic for MCR (first fic in a long time no matter) and I am just trying to fall back in love with writing again.  
> Any (positive and helpful) feedback is welcome!
> 
> Love,  
> -Me

_"And so with the sunshine and the great bursts of leaves growing on the trees, just as things grow in fast movies, I had that familiar conviction that life was beginning over again with the summer."_

I met him in the Summer of 1922.  
I was invited to the party by a friend of my cousin. She was a small blonde woman who wore her hair down in a short cut. She was beautiful and I was immediately enchanted by her. Not sexually or romantically, even. The way you might be drawn to a child. Her energy was captivating. Her name was Daisy. Daisy Buchanan.  
“Oh, Frank,” she said, placing her hand on my shoulder, “There’s a party tonight, over on West Egg. Please come.” I had only met her once before but I already felt I had no choice but to say yes. “It’s being thrown by a man named Gatsby,” she said. She smiled a little and looked out across the water to the West.  
“Do you know him?” I asked.  
“Hm?” she asked, “oh, know Gatsby? No, no. Just by reputation, of course.”  
My cousin Jordan Baker, the golf player, was fanning herself lazily on the couch. Jordan was tall and lean. She had heavily hooded eyes and often looked either bored or disapproving - which she often was anyway. Daisy’s husband had been sitting with us, but had left suddenly claiming he had business to attend to.  
“So?” Daisy asked, raising her eyebrows. Her voice was soft and sweet, like a song all it’s own. “The party?” She pointed across the bay, “it’s just there.” I squinted and could indeed see a house across the way. A mansion.  
“I suppose,” I sighed and shrugged.  
“Oh, wonderful!” She said and clapped her hands together. “Maybe you’ll even meet a girl,” she said, wiggling her eyebrows.  
“Ha!” Jordan erupted from the couch. “Frank? Meet a girl?”  
“And what is that supposed to mean?” Daisy said, her hands on her delicate hips.  
I looked down into my drink.  
“Frank has never had the time for girls. First with the navy, then with the music, breaks his poor mothers heart.”  
I rubbed my hand through my short hair and sighed. She was right, I had never even bothered with girls. I had the sea and I had my music.  
“Oh, well it’s never too late. Maybe, maybe, maybe,” Daisy said.  
“Yeah,” I said and took a long pull from my glass. “Maybe.”  
“Well, that settles it,” Daisy said and moves suddenly to the couch and grabs Jordan’s hands, “we are going to go get ready Frank,” she said, “help yourself to the liquor cabinet!”  
I watched them as they ran from the room, arm in arm and laughing together. I shook my head and filled my glass a little more with the whiskey on the coffee table and then walked to the long line of windows that faced the bay. The water sparkled with the late evening sun and I watched a boat drift across slowly. The lawn of the house across the way was filling up, the liquor was going to my head, I could hear the girls giggling in the room above, and I couldn’t help but smile at the feeling of possibility that was growing in my chest.

Traffic was backed up from the party. Cars lined down the driveway and onto the street. I had never seen a party of such grandeur before. In the navy, we partied but it was usually just us guys in a local bar. But this was on an entirely different scale.  
Daisy and Jordan were gossiping cooly in the backseat, unfazed by the splendor of it all. We decided to be dropped off at the gate and walk the rest of the way up to the house. And by house, I of course mean mansion. Castle, even. It was huge and it was full. Full of people, of music, of alcohol, of dancing, of laughter, of life. Jordan and Daisy linked arms and I followed behind. I double checked to make sure my sleeves were pulled down as far as they could be, to cover the tattoos that stretched over most of my body. There was nothing to do about the ones on my hands. Outside of the Navy I could feel the judgmental stares when one caught sight of the tattoos.  
Before we entered the front doors Daisy turned to me and leaned in towards my ear, “welcome to a real party, Francis,” she whispered, “have fun, and remember; nobody judges at a Gatsby party.” She pulled away and winked. And then she and Jordan were gone in a flash. I stood in the entryway, surrounded by people, knowing not a soul. That was the most grown-up I had seen Daisy. Her, leaning towards me in her short glittering gown, a feather in her hair and her lips red and full. Somehow she seemed all knowing, and I felt uncomfortable with the thought of that.  
  
A grand stairway to my right lead to the higher floors, who knew how many, and to my left was a large room. I squeezed through the people until I saw a tall door leading to the back of the house.  
I took a deep breath of the fresh air when I had finally made it out. I was on an upper balcony looking down at another crowd of people. There were two more balconies beneath me, a swimming pool, and a large lawn before it turned to beach, and then bay.  
I was amazed by the large throngs of people, drunk and giddy from all the excitement. The sun had barely gone down, the sky still blue and pinky. The air was thick with early summer and full of gossiping and big band music.  
The band was on the middle balcony, and they played dramatically. I could almost imagine myself down there playing with them, watching the people dancing to the music. I stretched my fingers out, could almost feel my own guitar beneath them. I watched the band for a while, completely entranced by their showmanship.  
  
After a few songs the band took a break and I turned away and looked to the balcony below me. Staring up at me was a man. His black hair was long and a little shaggy. His suit fit tight and he was leaning against the railing, pulling a cigarette from his lips. When he noticed I was looking back he immediately turned away and blushed, looking back to the woman in front of him.  
He was truly striking.  
I continued to watch him. The woman frequently touched his arm while she talked or laughed with him. Every time she did, he glanced up at me. It was always a quick look that I might have missed if I blinked. This happened several times. I leaned forward against the railing and continued to watch. She leaned in and laughed lightly touching his arm. He blushed and glanced at me and I raised my eyebrow and smirked at him. This time his cheeks burned bright and he managed to not look up at me for three more arm touches.  
  
“Frank, darling,” Daisy said and came up behind me. She handed me a glass of champagne. “How are you enjoying the party?” she asked.  
I pulled my eyes away from the man and smiled and thanked her for the drink.  
“It’s a lovely party. The music is fantastic,” I said. But I noticed she was now looking directly at the man down below. He glanced up.  
“What a handsome man,” Daisy said and looked sideways at me. “A very handsome man.”  
“Oh? What?” I straightened up and raised my eyebrows to her.  
She smiled lightly. “I once heard a rumor about him. Supposedly, he was once caught in the broom closet with another fellow. Isn’t that just the funniest thing you’ve ever heard, Francis? Who does anything in the broom closet, this house is full of rooms.”  
I stared at her.  
“Well, anyway, I am going to go. Mr. Gatsby himself has asked to see me. Fancy that. Enjoy yourself. Oh, and Francis?”  
“Hm?”  
“If my husband shows, please tell him you don’t know where I am.” She grazed her fingers over my arm before she was gone, walking straight back into the house without a look back.  
I tried to swallow but felt like my throat had closed up. Daisy Buchanan had simply addressed an issue I had kept hidden most of my life, and within the same breath dismissed the absurdity of it all. I glanced back down at the man. The woman had moved on to someone else, maybe deciding he wasn’t going to be taking her into one of the many rooms in the house. He was now leaning against the railing and looking up at me, his head cocked to the side a little, his mouth a straight line. Expressionless.  
I rolled my shoulders and then made my way down the stairs, one hand grasping the champagne Daisy had brought me, the other shoved into my pocket. My heart wasn’t pounding in my chest, it wasn’t beating at all. I held my breath. I could hardly convince myself to take each step but somehow I made it until I was standing directly in front of the beautiful stranger.  
“Might I interest you in a drink?” I asked.  
The straight line of his mouth pulled up into a crooked smirk.


	2. Mr. Curiosity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I like large parties. They’re so intimate. At small parties there isn’t any privacy."

I held out the glass of champagne to him.  
“Sure,” he said. When he reached for the drink he quickly grazed his fingers over the back of my tattooed hand before accepting the glass.  
I shivered.  
“A navy man?” He cocked an eyebrow.  
“That’s right.”  
“What’s your name, Sailor?” he asked. He leaned against the railing and lit another cigarette.  
“Frank,” I said. “Frank Iero.”  
“It’s nice to meet you Frank Iero. My name is Gerard Way.” He spoke with a strong East Coast accent and I immediately admired the way my name sounded on his tongue.  
“It’s nice to meet you too, Gerard Way,” I said.  
He smiled again and offered me a cigarette. I accepted. Something about his smile wasn't entirely happy. It was a genuine smile, but somehow it didn't reach to his eyes. His hazel eyes remained dark.  
“What brings you to a Gatsby party?” he asked.  
“My cousin and her friend Daisy are around here somewhere,” I said. “And yourself?”  
He shrugged and exhaled a puff of smoke. “I never miss a Gatsby party, you just never know what will happen.”  
Something about him made me nervous and comfortable at the same time. It was an effect I couldn’t explain, or understand. I felt I could tell him anything in the world, wanted to tell him everything in the world. I lit my cigarette and exhaled slowly.  
“Are you enjoying yourself?” he asked. When he talked his bottom lip pulled to the side oddly, endearingly.  
I nodded and glanced past him towards the beach and the bay, “I am. I have never seen anything like this before.”  
He nodded, and snubbed his cigarette out on the railing.  
“You haven’t touched your drink,” I said, nodding towards the glass now sitting beside the snubbed out cigarette,  
“Ah, right,” he said and handed it back to me. “I don’t actually drink much. I tend to get a little out of hand,” he said, raising his eyebrows, the corner of his mouth pulling down further.  
“Why did you accept it?”  
“I wanted to talk with you.”  
I smiled and took a sip from the glass.  
“I suppose we can still talk,”  
“What a relief,” he said, winking.  
“And what about you, Gerard Way, are you enjoying yourself?”  
He nodded his head and ran his hand through his wild hair. “I am now,” he said.  
I blushed and tried to hide it by looking past him and downing the rest of my drink.  
“Slow down there, Sailor.”  
I smiled at him and looked around. The band was taking position again and began in on a new song. Loud and full, the sound swept over the crowd who cheered. I looked back at Gerard and he was watching the band too.  
He opened his mouth to say something but whatever he said was drowned out by the music.  
I leaned forward, “Do you want to go on a walk?” I asked into his ear, “I haven’t seen the dock.”  
“Uh,” he paused and looked around, and then he nodded suddenly seeming very shy again.  
I put the empty glass back on the railing and lead the way through the crowd, Gerard following behind me. We dodged the dancing people, sometimes ducking a little as they swung their arms above their heads. I glanced back at Gerard and he kept his eyes on me.  
It wasn’t until we made it past the last balcony and pool and stepped onto the beach that the crowd thinned out enough for us to walk beside each other.  
Gerard walked with both his fists in his pant pockets and he stared out at the water. It was quieter and dimmer down by the dock. A single light shone off the water and reflected against Gerard’s pale face.  
The music faded quite a bit as we walked down the beach.  
“What do you do?” I asked him.  
He glanced away from the water at me.  
“I’m a writer,” he said, “and an artist. But that doesn’t pay as well,” he said.  
I walked out onto the dock and he followed.  
“What do you write?” I asked.  
“Novels, mostly.”  
“Anything I’ve read?”  
“Maybe,” he said, smiling crookedly towards me.  
“I’ve never heard your name before.”  
“I use a pseudonym,” he shrugged.  
“What is it?  
“Wouldn’t you like to know?”  
I huffed but he didn’t seem to notice.  
“Aside from being a navy man, what do you do?”  
We were sitting on the end of the dock by this time, on a bench that looked across the bay at the house I knew was Daisy’s. A green light flashed from their dock.  
“I’m a musician actually. It pays alright. We do weddings and parties sometimes, but mostly play the clubs.”  
He nodded beside me and then turned and looked at me for a few seconds.  
“What?” I asked.  
“I’m just trying to decide if I’ve seen you in any of the clubs. But I think I would have remembered.” He shrugged and turned back towards the water and the flashing green light.  
I felt halfway to drunk from the champagne and I inched my fingers close to his. He didn’t seem to notice.  
“I like it down here,” he said. “It’s quiet enough to think and talk.”  
“I agree. I spend so much time in the clubs with a ruckus crowd, this is actually really nice.”  
“I sing sometimes,” he said, “in the clubs.”  
“Writing, singing, and art? Is there anything you can’t do?”  
He let out a soft laugh and I couldn’t tell in the dark light, but I assumed he was blushing.  
I moved my hand a little closer to his. I don’t know what came over me. Champagne, I suppose. I, Frank Iero, who usually never bothered to succumb to any of my tendencies, was suddenly enchanted by the black haired man beside me, sitting by the bay. I wasn’t uncomfortable in our silence, but I wanted to get him talking, wanted to hear his voice and learn all about him.  
“Where are you from?” I asked.  
“Hm,” he paused. “I’ve been around quite a bit. Let’s say New Jersey though,” he said.  
“Oh really? Me too,” I said.

We talked for a while. I felt like we could have stayed on the dock the rest of the night just talking. I had never been so drawn to another person as I was to Gerard. I couldn't explain it. I had been with men before, and was certainly homosexual. Gay, the new word I had heard to describe my tendencies. I preferred the word gay. But I digress. I had been attracted to other men, and wanted to see inside their beds. I had never once cared so much to see inside their heads.  
We had been quiet for a while now and he turned his head to me and smiled.  
Something about the smile jolted me. For the first time it seemed as if he finally had let his guard down a little. Wide and bright and I felt suddenly as if we weren’t strangers, but two friends who had spent a long time apart.  
With that courage I touched his hand with the tips of my fingers. He looked down and smiled lightly at my hand. I placed my entire hand over his. We stayed that way for a few moments. He looking down at our hands, mine on his, and me looking at him. His eyelashes sent long shadows down his cheeks.  
I brought my other hand up and gripped his chin with my thumb and forefinger. I heard his breath hitch in his throat and he stared wide-eyed into me.  
“Frank,” he said.  
From behind us we heard laughing and yelling. Gerard cleared his throat and stood, pulling away from me. He leaned against a pole and looked across the water, his back towards me. He pulled out a cigarette and lit it. The butt of it burned gold and contrasted against the dark water. He tossed the lit match over the railing and it gave a light hiss as it burnt out.  
He turned slightly and offered the pack and matches to me.  
“Thank you,” I said. He still stood with his back to me, looking sideways so I could see the profile of his face. He blew a long breath of smoke out.  
Mesmerized by his graceful movements, I suppressed a moan.  
He flicked his cigarette and ash fell to the water.  
I looked away and lit my own cigarette. I stood and held out both the pack and matches back to him.  
He pocketed them both, nodding at me.  
I hardly knew this man. I knew he was a novelist, an artist, and didn’t drink. I knew he was from Jersey,he smoked like a chimney, and had a smile that tied my stomach in knots.  
And I knew I wanted to know more.  
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you,” I said.  
He exhaled, then turned and smiled lightly. “You didn’t upset me, Frank,” he said.  
I furrowed my brow.  
"Then what-"  
He looked back, away from me and began to speak.  
“A couple of months ago I was caught in that house with another man,” he said. “And, uh,” he cleared his throat, obviously uncomfortable. “Uh, it was not received well by some of the men who found us. Gatsby, good man, he stopped the beating before it got too bad. And those fellows are forever banned from the parties. But something like that, you don’t forget. They make sure you learn the lesson.”  
“Beating?”  
He turned and he wasn’t smiling anymore, and then he shrugged.  
“I would love to hold your hand. Hell, I’d love to do a lot of things. You’re a brave man, Frank Iero. But they beat the bravery out of me.”  
He tossed his cigarette into the water. It hissed and continued to float, bobbing against the dock with the light current.  
“Gerard,” I began.  
“Frank, I’m going to go. It really has been nice meeting you. I wish you nothing but the best.”  
“Gerard.”  
He stepped forward and pressed his hand to my shoulder, patting lightly. He wasn’t looking at me, he was looking back up the lawn.  
He walked down the dock and I watched him light a cigarette as he went. I kept my eyes on him as he walked up the stairs and lost him somewhere in the crowd.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading friends! I so appreciate it. And your comments and kudos! Very exciting for me.
> 
> Have a great day!
> 
> -Me
> 
> P.S. you don't realize how short a chapter is until you see it here. I think the rest are longer.


	3. Blue and Yellow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I wasn't actually in love, but I felt a sort of tender curiosity."

I woke up the next morning on the dock. A man was standing over me in a white suit and hat. He leaned on a cane. He didn’t look much older than me and he laughed loudly.  
“Good morning, old sport,” he said, “did you have a good night?”  
I felt my cheeks heating up.  
“Christ, I am so sorry,” I said, straightening up and patting my suit down.  
“No worries, no worries at all,” the man said. “That’s what a party is for, letting loose.”  
“Are, uh, are you Mr. Gatsby?” I asked.  
He laughed and nodded, “Indeed, but please call me Jay, old sport.”  
“Ah, my name is Frank. Again, sorry. I’ll be going,” I said.  
“You’re Daisy’s friend, aren’t you?” he asked.  
“I am.”  
“Splendid. I heard you met my friend Gerard last night.”  
“I did, yes.” I had forgotten momentarily. The dark haired man.  
“Good boy, that Gerard.”  
I nodded.  
“You know, I heard he left in a bit of a hurry last night.”  
“Yes, I noticed that too.”  
“Hm. Well, it probably has something to do with the fact that he loves to go write in that cafe downtown, the one on 3rd. Loves to go write there every morning. In fact, he’s probably there now.” He said and raised his eyebrows.  
I smiled and nodded, unsure of how to respond.  
“Well,” Jay continued, “if you happen to end up at the small cafe on 3rd downtown, called SingerHill I believe, if you end up over there for any reason. You let him know I say hello.”  
“Ah,” I said, understanding. “You and Daisy seem to be progressive people.”  
He laughed again. He was a handsome man, especially when he smiled.  
“Yes, well,” he shrugged and tapped his cane against the dock, “I try anyway. I like people to be happy, I certainly know what it’s like to want something,” he dropped his voice a little and raised an eyebrow, “or someone.”  
I felt myself blush and I looked towards the bay. The sun was still low in the sky, it might have been nine o’clock. I stretched a little. “I’ll be going,” I said, “I heard about this cafe on 3rd I might like to visit.”  
Jay clapped me on the back, “yes, old sport. It was a pleasure. I hope to see you at my next party.”  
I smiled and thanked him and turned up the dock. When I reached the lawn I turned back. Gatsby was standing facing away, staring out across the water.

The house was strange in the daylight. I saw a few people sleeping on the steps, but most everyone had gone. All was quiet and bright and it felt wrong to be there.  
I walked through the house and down the drive, only then realizing I had no way of getting home. I stood on the street for a few moments before walking.  
The day was already hot and I pulled my suit jacket off and rolled my sleeves up. I felt dirty and wanted badly to bathe, but I felt a strong need to get to the cafe. To see Gerard again.  
I tried to think of other things. Of the show I was playing that night with my band, of Daisy and the strange relationship she seemed to have with Jay Gatsby, of what a beautiful day it was already. Anything but Gerard Way. Because I had no right to think of him in any way. I’d known him for a couple hours, at most. He should be just another person I met in passing.  
I shouldn’t feel like this.  
And it would definitely not be right to just show up at the cafe where he was writing. It wouldn’t be right at all.  
I got to the mainland in a short amount of time and spotted a cab parked on the side of the road outside of a gas station. The cabbie was inside reading the paper.  
“Good morning, sir,” I said.  
The man glanced up. He was older and tired.  
“Are you able to give me a ride into the city?”  
“Of course, hop on in!” he said and began folding up his paper. I climbed into the backseat and he looked into the rear-view mirror. “Any particular destination?”  
“Yes, 3rd avenue? A cafe there that may or may not be called SingerHill.”  
“Ah, yes,” he nodded and pulled onto the road.  
I stared out the window most of the drive. We passed through the coaling area, dirty and dark. The contrast from the rich West and East Egg, to this area, and then beyond to the city, always startled me.  
We came upon the bridge which lead into the city and I watched the large buildings grow and grow before us.  
Neither the cabbie nor I spoke the entire drive, and I saw glitter along his shoulders and hair and instantly knew he must have been at Gatsby’s party.

He pulled up outside of the cafe and I got out my billfold and paid him, and then stepped into the sun. I squinted up at the sky, bright blue. It contrasted against the gray of the buildings. I wondered if this was a good idea, if I should just leave and go home. But knowing he was probably inside, I couldn't bring myself to turn away.  
I unrolled my sleeves and pulled my jacket back on before taking a few deep breaths and opening the door to the cafe. It was bright inside, the large storefront windows letting in the morning sun. There was a dull chatter among the patrons. I looked around and saw Gerard in the corner, staring down at a notebook, the end of his fountain pen in his mouth as he stared hard. From here I could see the sheet of paper was blank.  
He looked, well, beautiful. His brows furrowed, his hair a mess, and now wearing a black vest over a white shirt, the sleeves rolled up, and an undone yellow bow-tie hanging around his neck.  
I took one more deep breath, counted to five, and then walked over to the table. So in thought, he didn’t notice my approach.  
“Excuse me, is this seat taken?” I asked.  
He startled and looked up. His brows smoothed and his mouth pulled into a smile, before his brows furrowed again.  
“Frank,” he said.  
I nodded towards the chair in front of him and raised an eyebrow.  
“Sure, sure,” he said.  
I sat and he laid his pen down on the notebook.  
“What are you doing here?” He asked. “How did you-“  
“Gatsby,” I said.  
“Ah,” he said, nodding. “That meddling fool,” he mumbled.  
“Are you upset?”  
“I’m not upset.”  
I nodded, unconvinced. I felt queasy, wishing I hadn’t come. I also felt relief, sitting in front of him, knowing he had been real.  
“I’m not,” he said again. He picked up the pen and tapped it nervously.  
“Should I go?”  
He didn’t say anything, he stared down at his paper, tapping his pen.  
Tap.  
Tap.  
Tap.  
“O.K.,” I said. I began to stand, when he grabbed my wrist. I looked back and he was staring at me, wide eyed. He almost looked pained.  
“Stay,” he said.  
I sat back down and he let his hand stay around my wrist for a few seconds, before letting go, pulling it back to his side of the table.  
“Forgive me. I’m glad to see you,” he said.  
He looked up to the counter and nodded to the man behind it. He began making a coffee.  
“Good,” I said.  
He smiled, “good.”  
The waiter brought the coffee over and set it in front of me.  
“Thank you,” I said.  
Gerard brought his own coffee to his lips.  
I cocked my head and watched him as he took a sip and set it back down.Gerard cleared his throat and looked around, “I’ve been thinking about you,” he said.  
My heartbeat quickened and my stomach instantly tied itself up. “I’ve been thinking of you too,” I said.  
He nodded.  
“I’m sorry I left in such a hurry last night,” he said. “You understand, right?” He raised an eyebrow and took to tapping his pen against his notebook again.  
“I do.”  
“Good,” he said.  
“What are you writing?”  
He looked down at the blank sheet and laughed, “nothing.”  
“Well, what are you attempting to write?”  
He was still half-laughing, “ah, a novel. I haven’t had an idea stick though.” He shrugged, capped his pen, and shut the notebook. “Something will come to me, just takes time.”  
We sipped our coffee quietly, stealing glances at each other. Something in his graceful movements captivated me. The way he smiled mostly to one side, the way he sipped his coffee with his eyes closed, the way a slow blush hinted on his cheeks. I could hardly take my eyes away.  
“Gerard?”  
“Hm?” He glanced up from his coffee.  
“Do you, uh,” I stopped and looked down, nervous.  
“What is it, Frank?” he asked lightly.  
“Do you want to come out with me tonight? My band is performing.”  
I looked up. He was staring at me, biting his lip. I remembered how he left suddenly last night, and worried I had scared him off again. Slowly I watched as his tooth let go of his lip and he smiled.  
“Sure,” he said, “all right.”


	4. What Makes a Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "No amount of fire or freshness can challenge what a man will store up in his ghostly heart."

We agreed to meet back at the cafe that evening. I didn’t want to leave him at the cafe, I could have sat and watched him write all day, but I needed to get back to my apartment and wash up and practice a bit.  
I stood and we shook hands. I used both of mine, cupping the other around his hand and holding us together. He looked up at me with the same wide-eyed expression he had given me earlier. I tried not to, but I couldn’t help looking at him like he was a broken man. Something about the fear in his eyes shook me and I felt the innate need to protect him from whatever had happened in his haunted past.  
He looked down and pulled his hand away.  
“I’ll see you tonight, Gerard,” I said.  
“Yes, 8 o’clock?”  
“8 o’clock.”  
I turned and nodded at the waiter, then left the cafe. Outside, I turned and peered back inside. Gerard was staring back down at his notebook, the ghost of a smile on his lips.

The day passed slowly. I walked the seven blocks to my apartment, a 6th story walk-up. Once there, I stripped down and threw my suit on the floor. It was a small one-bedroom I’d moved into a few months before. I didn’t mind it small. I rarely had company and didn’t need much space for just my guitar and myself.  
I’d always wanted to live in the city. Something so magical about it, as if the possibilities were endless. As if anything could happen. Though months had passed, I still woke up and smiled, looking out of my bedroom window, knowing at any second everything could change. That was the beauty of the city. Of any city, but specifically New York City. It was full of possibilities and hope and energy. I could feel it buzzing around no matter the time of day. Buzzing in my fingers and toes and ears. Energy.  
I’d come to the city with the little money I had saved up since the end of the war. I quickly found a new band to play with and we performed almost every night in speakeasies. It was a life I loved, and one I wished to live forever.  
I drew the bath and stood in front of the mirror while the tub filled. I looked hellish, with circles under my eyes and my hair pressed flat in the back. Embarrassed to have seen Gerard looking like that, I turned away from myself. I sunk into the tub, with a sigh.  
I cleaned myself quickly, wanting time to take a nap before that evening. I ran the soap over my body, already feeling better. I put the soap on the ledge and leaned back, relaxing into the water. The warmth pressed around me and I closed my eyes, fulling submersing myself in it. I held my breath and I thought about Gerard.  
And hated myself for it.  
Since the Navy I had been with several men, but never had felt more than the carnal need to sleep with them. I had never once wanted to caress their cheek or learn about their past or feel their body against mine in the most innocent way. And, of course, in not such an innocent way too.  
I opened my eyes and stared up through the water. I pushed up and brought in a breath of air.  
Slowly, I moved my hand down to my aching member and gave it a few strokes. I let out a moan and imagined Gerard there in the tub with me. I imagined it to be his hand. I picked up my rhythm and arched my hips up stroking faster and harder. I groaned, losing myself in the feeling, my whole body tensing up and falling further back into the water. My head fell under and I held my breath. I slid my hand up and down on my cock a couple more times before I felt the warmth spread through my entire body and I came, my hips jerking up. I quickly pushed my face through the surface of the water, breathing in the air deeply. I leaned my face on the side of the cool tub and panted, eyes closed.  
Then I slowly got to my feet, toweled myself dry, and drained the tub.

I was outside the cafe fifteen minutes early, fidgeting with my suit. The cafe had closed and I looked at myself in the reflection, making sure I looked more presentable than I had earlier that day.  
Behind me, someone cleared their throat. I turned and saw Gerard standing there, in a white long-sleeve shirt, the same black vest as earlier, and a black tie.  
“Good evening,” I said.  
He smiled, “good evening to you.”  
“Ready for a party?”  
He bit his lip and nodded, “where are we going?”  
“Just a little place my band plays often.” I leaned down and grabbed my guitar case.  
We walked close together down the sidewalk and for the first time I noticed his height. He walked a little taller than myself, and I caught myself looking up at him. The sun was setting and the gold light caught on his cheek bones.  
He caught me and gave me a sideways glance, “what?”  
“Oh,” I said and looked ahead. “You look nice.”  
He ducked his head and ran his hand through his hair. “Thank you,” he said.  
We reached the pie shop and I stopped outside.  
“Have you been here before?” I asked.  
He nodded.  
I checked my watch. 8:17.  
“Ready, darlin’?”  
He blushed, “ready.”  
I held the door open and followed him inside. The pie shop had one couple eating and looking longingly at each other in the corner, otherwise it was completely empty.  
A small man came around the corner, “Ah, Mr. Iero, running a little behind tonight, are we?” he asked.  
“I’m always running behind, Richard,” I said. He laughed and then turned his gaze to Gerard.  
“Haven’t seen you in a while, sir,” he said.  
Gerard shrugged and smiled, “been laying off the sauce.”  
“Good man,” Richard said. “Well, shall we?” He turned and we followed him down the hallway towards the kitchen. On the large metal door he knocked three times, waited two beats, and then knocked two more times. The door opened slowly.  
“Have a good time,” Richard said and turned back down the hallway to the pie shop. I nodded and then lead the way through the door. Instead of taking us to the kitchen, as you would believe, it opened to a narrow hallway. Just inside the door was a large woman I knew to be Richard’s wife.  
“How have you been, Sally?” I asked.  
She smiled widely, “oh Frank, always a pleasure. And I didn’t know you were a friend with our writer here!” she said and beamed at Gerard.  
“Good evening, Sally,” he said.  
“New friends,” I said.  
“How wonderful,” she said and motioned for us to go on down the hallway. I nodded to her.  
The hallway was dark and the sound of voices and music could be heard louder with every step. We descended a staircase and before us was a large, open room. Full of life and laughter. Women swaying and drinking cocktails, men chatting and taking shots, and a group of Charleston dancers on the stage.  
The Gimlet.  
My second home.  
I turned to look at Gerard. He was expressionless but I saw him eyeing the bar.  
“Everyone seems to know you,” I said.  
“I came here often about six months ago,” he said with a shrug.  
I grazed my fingers over his elbow, discreetly. “Going to be alright?”  
“Of course,” he said, turning his eyes from the bar and to me. “Happy to be out,” he said.  
“My band goes up soon, and we don’t play for long. They will be showing the blind pig after that,”  
“Ah, is that thing still alive?” he asked with a sad grimace.  
“I think it might be a new one.”  
“Poor bastard,” he mumbled.  
The blind pig was the Gimlet’s main attraction. Pay to see the poor blind pig, don’t pay for the alcohol. A loophole that hardly worked.  
The music picked up and Gerard leaned closer to me, “I see a table over there,” he said and pointed to a dark corner, “I’ll sit there during your performance and you meet me there?”  
I turned and nodded to him.

I took the stage with the band, six other men. I wrapped the guitar strap around my neck. The other men set up with their instruments. The crowd cheered. I instantly looked for Gerard and saw him in the corner, a cup of coffee in front of him. He smiled and nodded at me. I smiled and turned to my band. We weren’t a very close group. We hadn’t known each other for long, and I was only hired in temporarily while their regular guitarist was on the West Coast. I hoped to make it a permanent position.  
The drummer nodded.  
We went straight into a swing number which was always a crowd favorite. I let myself go into the music and the performance went quickly. I would look to Gerard frequently. He was always watching me, sipping his coffee, tapping his foot, sometimes singing along.  
An hour later we were ending our final song. We took a bow and patted each other on the back while the crowd cheered and then went to the bar for refreshments.  
I packed up my guitar and went to where Gerard sat, waiting.  
“You were fantastic,” he said, “everyone was having such a wonderful time.”  
“I would have loved to see you out there dancing,” I said and winked while I took my seat across from him.  
“Well, who would I have danced with?” he said with a smirk, “my date was on stage.”  
“Date, hm?” I asked.  
He instantly blushed and looked past me.  
“Oh, uh,” he began to stutter through.  
“Hush, I said and reached across the table, placing my hand over his, “I’m only kidding.”  
He nodded. I took my hand away.  
“So, date?” I said again with a smirk.  
He sent me a fake glare and said with finality, “date.”  
“Tell me more about yourself, Writer,” I said. “Richard called you Sir, which I am sure he never has done with anyone else. You must be a big deal.”  
He threw his head back and I was instantly addicted to the sound of his loud laughter. “I can assure you I am not,” he said. “What would you like to know?”  
“Just anything about you. You seem to be a person I could like very, very much, if only I knew more about you,” I said.  
“Or, maybe you only like me now because you know so little about me. Mystery can be an incredible drug, Mr. Iero. Easy to get hooked on it, then you spend your time chasing the ghost of something that you created in your mind.”  
I stared at him, “well, you’re certainly a writer. And you’ve certainly thought this through. You are a curiosity, Mr. Way, but I can promise you I am not just interested in you for that.”  
“How can you possibly promise that?”  
“How can you be so sure I wont like the real you?”  
He furrowed his brows and took a sip of his coffee.  
“Hm?” I pressed.  
“Let’s just say, I am used to letting people in to see the real me and they being very let down by what they find.”  
I sighed and reached under the table, I ran my hand over his knee and I saw him shiver. He looked around to make sure no one could see, but I was sure they couldn’t. The entire space was dark enough as it was, but he had managed to sit in the darkest corner as well. I continued to run my hand over his knee.  
“I don’t know you, you’re right,” I said.  
“No.”  
“But I want to. And I don’t know what else to say about that. Tell me five things about you,” I said.  
“You’re a very cocky, persistent man.”  
“I’d say a confident go-getter,” I shrugged and smiled.  
“O.K. five things.” He sighed and looked into his coffee cup.  
I left my hand on his leg.  
“One, I am twenty-seven years old. Two, I spent the last several years in Paris. Three, I have a younger brother whom I love very much. Four, I haven’t spoken to most of my family since I was twenty,” he glanced up at me to check my reaction. I smiled a little to encourage him to continue, “Five, uh, five…” he stopped and furrowed his brows again. “Is four close enough?”  
“I want five things, but I’ll let you think about the final one.”  
“Five things about you now,” he said. I was surprised when he reached his hand under the table and placed it over mine.  
“Christ, of course. Uh. One, I am twenty-three years old. Two, I was in the Navy for the Great War, but in the band, not combat. Three, I really want a pet dog. Four, I practice the guitar five hours a day. Five, I am really glad I met you.”  
He looked down and I patted his knee. He glanced up through his eyelashes.  
“Boys!” A loud voice boomed. Gerard and I both yanked our hands away from each other.  
“Well if it isn’t Mr. Jay Gatsby,” Gerard said, running both hands through his hair and leaning back into the shadows, probably trying to hide his blush.  
Jay came up beside me and clapped his hand on my back. “Gerard, Frank,” he said, nodding at each of us. “Sure am happy to see you out and about,” he said.  
“What are you doing here?” Gerard asked, standing to shake Jay’s hand.  
Gatsby turned back towards the tables more in the center and waved. I saw Daisy and her husband Tom sitting. They both waved. Daisy, happily and smiling. Tom, not so much.  
“Why don’t you boys come and sit with us? Plenty of room.”  
“Um,” I looked at Gerard but his face didn’t offer anything. “Sure, maybe for a few minutes.”  
We followed Jay back to his table and I brushed my fingers against Gerard’s elbow before we sat down.  
“Oh, Frank, how lovely to see you,” Daisy said. She turned her gaze to Gerard and raised an eyebrow, the corner of her mouth also raising. “I don’t believe we have officially met,” Daisy said.  
“No, no, I don’t believe so,” Gerard said.  
“Well, I am Daisy, Daisy Buchanan,” She reached her hand across the table and he kissed the top of it.  
“My name is Gerard,” he said, “Way. Gerard Way.”  
“Well it is a pleasure, Mr. Way. And this is my husband, Tom.”  
Gerard turned and shook Tom’s hand. Tom was a hard man, black hair and constantly glaring. He looked like he might have been handsome in his younger years, but his permanent scowl made it hard to see anything redeemable about him.  
“Well,” Jay began, “now that we all know each other, let’s skip the awkward small talk.”  
I shook Tom’s hand in greeting and leaned back into my chair. Under the table, I pressed the side of my foot to the side of Gerard’s. He pressed back.  
Tom looked at Jay and then back at Gerard.  
“So, Gerard, what do you do?” he asked.  
“I’m a writer,” he said.  
“Anything I’ve read?”  
“Probably not,” Gerard said and looked at Jay. If I hadn’t been looking, I would have missed it entirely, but I was sure I saw Jay give a short nod.  
“What do you write? Poetry, novels, political pieces?” Tom rattled on.  
“Novels, mostly. I try and stay out of the political scene.”  
“Yes, yes,” Tom nodded. I looked at Daisy and she was reaching out to pat Tom’s hand.  
“Let’s not get into politics,” she said.  
Tom shrugged her off.  
“I read a political piece the other day, can’t remember what it was called. It was great commentary though,” Tom said and paused, looking hard at Gerard, “on the state of New York City and the rise in the homosexuals.”  
Gerard’s jaw clenched, as did mine.  
“Says that they are on the raise, and so is the number of sexual crimes. The article suggests they all be locked up.”  
“Is that so?” Jay said, shifting uncomfortably.  
“Oh, Tom, this is not good party speak.”  
“Dirty faggots, if you ask me,” Tom said.  
Jay slammed his hand down on the table.  
“Enough now with that talk,” Jay said.  
Tom continued to huff but I turned to Gerard.  
I had come to accept what I was long ago and that word had stopped stinging around the same time. By the look on Gerard’s face, that wasn’t the same case for him. He was pained, his jaw clenched and the corner of his mouth pulled down into a grimace.  
Gerard cleared his throat.  
I pressed my foot harder against his.  
He pulled his foot away.  
I kept an eye on him as the conversation shifted to Daisy talking about a play she wanted to go see.  
When the conversation took a pause Gerard stood.  
“I must be heading out,” he said.  
“Gerard,” I started.  
He shook his head at me with a stern look.  
“It was really nice meeting you,” he said to Daisy, nodding. He did not look at Tom. “Jay, Frank,” he said. He let his eyes linger on me. Then he turned on his heel and maneuvered his way through the crowd. I stared after him until I couldn’t spot him anymore. Tom shrugged and started talking with Daisy. I looked to Jay. He gave me a sad smile.  
“Should I go after him?” I asked.  
Jay shook his head, “he probably needs to be alone. He’s a quiet fellow.”  
I tried to focus on other things but all I could think about was how I had let him go and how upset he had looked. I should have followed him. I didn’t hear much of the conversation after that. Daisy and Tom stopped their talking when the blind pig was strutted onto the stage. I looked at it without really seeing it. The crowd laughed and pointed and the pig sat there dumbly, blind and miserable. I wish I could have ran onto the stage and taken the pig home, told everyone to stop their mocking, told them it wasn’t even that the pig was that strange at all.  
The night only geared up after they took the pig away and the dancers came back to the stage. The music was loud, the dancing was fierce, and the liquor was pouring freely.  
I finally stood, feeling only a little drunk but very tired.  
“I’ll be heading home,” I said.  
“Oh, Francis, but the night is young!” Daisy exclaimed, setting down her cocktail.  
I smiled, “I am glad to have run into you,” I said and turned to Jay, who pulled me into a brief hug.  
“Make sure you stop by that cafe tomorrow morning, old sport,” he said quietly.  
“I will, I should have followed tonight,” I said.  
“No, no,” he shook his head, “he needs his space. You know, writers.”  
I nodded.  
“See you around, old sport,” he said.  
I began to weave through the crowd, a swell of affection for Jay Gatsby. I climbed the stairs and started down the long narrow hall.  
“Oh, Frank,” Sally said from the end of the hallway.  
“Hello, enjoying your evening?” I asked.  
She looked grim.  
“What is it?” I said.  
She shook her head and pushed open the door into the pie shop, and she walked out with me. I followed her into the main area. She pointed to a booth in the corner.  
A man was lying down in the booth, his legs hanging off the edge of the bench.  
Sally shook her head sadly, then turned and went back to her post.  
I felt my stomach drop. Oh no.  
I approached the bench. Lying there, face wet with tears and vomit, eyes closed, was the wild haired, beautiful man.  
“Gerard?” I said quietly.  
He opened his eyes and looked at me.  
“What happened?” I asked.  
He spoke evenly then, despite the tears that poured down his cheeks and the obvious misery he was in.  
“I’m repulsive,” he said, “and I want to die.”


End file.
